Greg who?” Darcy winked and straightened the collar of her pink polo shirt—the standard uniform of the diner waitstaff. She sashayed out of the kitchen, humming “Someday My Prince Will Come” under her breath.
Miranda exhaled in relief. Maybe she had just given up a generous tip but something about Andrew Noble flustered her.
You mean, other than the obvious, a voice in her head mocked. That he’s incredibly easy on the eyes and wealthy enough to live a life of leisure?
Something a working girl like her couldn’t begin to fathom. She’d never had a problem dealing with a customer before but, when Andrew had walked into the diner, her heart had responded with an unsettling kick. Darcy would welcome his attention. Miranda wished he’d find another restaurant.
“M.J. Snap out of it! Order up!” Isaac Tubman’s exasperated shout echoed around the kitchen. And probably the entire dining room. But no one would blink an eye. The regulars were used to the gruff old cook and his occasional tirades.
“Sorry.” Miranda scooped up the tray of hamburgers and took a step toward the swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the dining area.
“Don’t forget the garnish!” Isaac thundered, stopping her in her tracks.
“You’ve been watching Emeril again, haven’t you?” Miranda smiled but dutifully dropped a sprig of wilted parsley onto each plate.
Miranda heard Isaac chuckle as he turned back to the grill. She’d worked at the diner for four years, both as a waitress and a bookkeeper, and she’d learned right away that Isaac’s bark was worse than his bite. When her son, Daniel, had developed bronchitis shortly after Sandra Lange had hired her, it was Isaac who’d shown up at their apartment one evening with a container of homemade chicken noodle soup and his wooden checkerboard to entertain the little boy, giving her a much needed break.
In spite of Miranda’s reluctance to accept help from anyone, the simple gesture had endeared her to the old cook. As a single parent, Miranda had gotten used to doing everything on her own, But Daniel, her thoughtful, wise-beyond-his-years son, had taken to Isaac immediately.
Two years later, Isaac still kept the checkerboard behind the soda fountain for the times Miranda had to bring Daniel to work with her.
Balancing the tray in her hands, Miranda pushed through the doors, no longer feeling as if she were passing through a time warp when she stepped out of the modern kitchen into the 1950s-style dining area. “Rock Around the Clock” blared out of the juke box, not quite drowning out the cheer from the teenage boys who saw her approaching with their burgers.
The commotion snagged Andrew Noble’s attention. He glanced up and their eyes met.
The pictures of him that frequently graced the society page of the Richmond Gazette didn’t do him justice. Black ink might have accurately captured the color of his hair, but it didn’t give a hint that his eyes were a warm, sunlight-in-the-woods shade of hazel. The lazy half smile he directed at the cameras—the one that gave him an air of mystery and drove the gossip columnists crazy—was even more potent in real life.
She could attest to that because at the moment it was directed right at her.
Miranda quickly averted her eyes and broke the connection.
She refused to act like a starstruck groupie. Men like Andrew Noble wielded too much power. And she knew from bitter experience that men could use their position and power to hurt other people. Hal had taught her that lesson and she wasn’t going to let history repeat itself. Not when the wounds he’d inflicted had yet to heal.
At table five, eager hands reached for the tray. They reminded Miranda of Daniel and she smiled. “Patience, boys. The burgers aren’t going to walk off the plates.”
She divvied up the order and went to the soda fountain to refill their drinks. The boys came in every Friday for lunch and Miranda knew them by name. She also knew the grand sum of her tip would be the handful of change they pooled in the center of the table before they left. They meant well, although a dollar tip wasn’t going to have a significant impact on her meager savings account. Over the past few months, Daniel had sprouted like Jack’s beanstalk, outgrowing all his clothes from the previous summer. Which meant a trip to the mall in Richmond was needed.
Miranda tried to suppress the wave of discouragement that threatened to crash over her. She’d find a way. Sandra was always willing to let her pick up another shift if she needed it.
“Andrew!” As if conjured up by Miranda’s thoughts, Sandra’s lilting voice swept through the diner. She made a habit of chatting with each and every customer who came into the Starlight.
Sandra gave Miranda’s arm an affectionate pat as she breezed past and paused to talk to Andrew. “It’s nice to see you again. I figured you’d be long gone by now.”
“I’m afraid Chestnut Grove is stuck with me for a while.” Andrew’s New England accent was clipped but pleasant, and Miranda resisted the urge to look at him again, to see if the smile she heard in his voice was reflected in his eyes. “Rachel’s been feeling a little tired lately so I’m going to keep an eye on things at the Foundation.”
Which meant he wasn’t just passing through town. Miranda felt a strange mixture of relief and dread bubble up inside of her. It was the relief that disturbed her.
“Rachel and the baby are all right, aren’t they?” The concern in Sandra’s voice stilled Miranda’s hands as she waited to hear Andrew’s response. Rachel and her friends had been coming to the Starlight for brunch every Sunday after church for as long as she’d worked at the diner.
“She has an appointment with her doctor this morning, which will give us a better indication about what’s going on.”
“Please tell Rachel I’ll add her and Eli and the baby to my prayer list,” Sandra said.
“She’ll appreciate that, Ms. Lange.”
“Sandra,” she said, correcting him. “This is the Starlight Diner, my dear, not the Ritz.”
“I’ll remember that, Sandra.”
The warmth in his voice somehow made him seem more approachable. Miranda could almost imagine he was just another one of the diner’s regulars.
In Armani.
“Sandra! Order up!” Isaac’s voice boomed above the music and the steady hum of conversation.
“Someone should remind that man I’m the one who owns the place.” Sandra laughed and maneuvered her way back through the maze of tables, greeting people by name on her way to the kitchen.
Miranda double-checked the bill before she presented it to the boys and then turned to slip away.
Andrew Noble was looking right at her. Again.
Miranda couldn’t blame the jolt that coursed through her on Isaac’s high-octane coffee. She’d only had one cup since her shift had started.
“I’d like a refill when you have a minute—” his eyes drifted to her name tag “—Miranda.”
She nodded but it didn’t feel like a normal nod.
